


Fire Orange (#FF7700)

by Hylla_Tavorian_Aldan



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alucard Is A Little Shit (Hellsing), Creepy Alucard (Hellsing), Domestic, Domestic Fluff (sort of), F/M, Horror, Mild Blood, Mild Horror, Mild Sexual Content, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hylla_Tavorian_Aldan/pseuds/Hylla_Tavorian_Aldan
Summary: “How many lies did you find in your paper so far?” he murmurs curiously.“Thirteen, before you interrupted me.”Alma feels him smile into her skin. “How fitting.”
Relationships: Alucard (Hellsing)/Original Character(s), Alucard (Hellsing)/Reader
Kudos: 18





	Fire Orange (#FF7700)

The fireplace burns warm and bright, casting shadows upon Alma’s face as she read _The Daily Mail._ It wasn’t particularly riveting—or accurate, for that matter—but it _was_ entertaining to go through the paper and make note of all the rampant falsehoods she spotted, tally them up, and then file them away in the little black notebook she kept stashed away in her room.

Suddenly, she hears footsteps approaching from behind, even though she hadn’t heard any doors or windows opening. She doesn’t tense, doesn’t shift in her chair, doesn’t even so much as lift her head. She simply continues to read as the footsteps continue to draw closer, until they circle around the armchair and stop in front of her.

“Did you forget something, little journalist?” Alucard holds out his hand, dangling something in front of her like a carrot on a stick. She glances up briefly, and sees none other than her black notebook and her favorite pen.

“Do I even _want_ to know what you were doing in my room?” she asks, flipping to the next page in her newspaper.

“I simply noticed you left without your precious notebook, so I opted to retrieve it so you wouldn’t have to interrupt your little routine and do it yourself,” he explains, looking far too smug for her liking as gives the items another dangle for emphasis. “I even took the time to bring the pen you’re so fond of, as well.”

“So it seems.” Without looking up, she swipes the items from his hand and tucks them into the small space between her thighs. “I suppose I should thank you for it, then.”

Alucard raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She folds the newspaper in half so she could still read it while holding it in one hand, using the other to open her notebook and pull something out from a small pocket attached to the back cover: a thin stiletto knife. She makes a small cut in the palm of her other hand, careful to avoid puncturing any veins as blood wells up from it.

She returns the knife to its original hiding place and swaps her newspaper before the blood could stain its pages, holding out her newly freed hand to Alucard as she picked up where she left off on her paper. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his lips stretch into a wide, wide smile, his teeth all fangs as he holds her wrist with far more gentleness than she’d been expecting from him. He kisses the inside of her hand, right over the small cut she’d given herself. His breath is warm, and she resists the urge to pull away as his fangs scrape against the soft flesh of her palm—not quite breaking the skin but always coming so very _close._

And oh _god,_ his tongue is long—long and _warm,_ and as it laves over her skin and prevents any blood from dripping down further than her wrist, she wonders when she reached the point in their relationship where she found it more titillating than disgusting.

“How many lies did you find in your paper so far?” he murmurs curiously.

“Thirteen, before you interrupted me.”

Alma feels him smile into her skin. “How fitting.”

“Of course _you’d_ think so.”

His smile widens. “Read them to me. I find them entertaining.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, which, for once, aren't obscured by the heavily tinted glasses he seemed to wear every second of the day. “Only if you stop licking my hand and sit down properly.”

This causes him to laugh out loud, and he releases her hand to place both of his on the armrests and loom over her in an almost menacing fashion, his teeth bared in a grin of feral amusement.

“Have I ever told you how cruel you are?” he asks her.

“No crueler than Integra, surely,” she points out with a raised brow.

Alucard hums to himself, light and contemplative. “No, I suppose not.”

And before she can respond, her center of gravity shifts, and she’s suddenly in his lap and she can feel his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest.

“Really, Alucard?” Her irritation is palpable, but not enough for him to believe she is truly mad at him. “There’s an empty chair less than a foot away from you.”

“A very astute observation, little journalist,” he praises her mockingly. She can’t see him without turning her head, but she _can_ feel his fangs graze the side of her neck, then nip teasingly at her skin. “Unfortunately, since you never gave me a specific order as to _where_ you would have me sit, I merely assumed it was left open to personal interpretation.”

She lets out an irritated huff, but it ends in a stutter when he begins to suck a hickey into her neck, directly above her pulse. She grits her teeth, and moves to grip the folded newspaper tightly with both hands. That being said, he’s shockingly attentive as he works at her flesh with annoying diligence, taking care to make sure his fangs never actually pierce her skin. She would’ve found it admirable, if he wasn’t being such a _pest._

“You must be quite lonely, then, to seek out my company in such a manner,” she replies through a clenched jaw.

“Would you be so cruel as to deprive me of it, little journalist?” he shoots back, detaching his mouth from her neck for only a moment before resuming his work.

She sighs exasperatedly and finally unfolds her newspaper. “No, I suppose not.”

He perks up at the sound of paper rustling, and gives her neck a final hard suck before pulling away, chuckling lowly when he hears Alma take a sharp, involuntary breath. She twists her upper body to shoot him a withering glare, but nevertheless flips back to the first page and lets him rest his chin on her head as she begins to read aloud.

And despite his inability to feel the cozy heat of the fireplace, or that created by Alma sitting in his lap, he can still feel his chest swell with warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
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